


One Last Shot

by SadinaSaphrite



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dragons, Dragons through Peacekeeper, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Language, Mission Fic, More blatant excuses to hurt my favorite characters, Near Death Experiences, Violence, mission goes bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 12:35:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12254511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SadinaSaphrite/pseuds/SadinaSaphrite
Summary: McCree had never been struck by lightning, but he imagined it would be something like this. Incomprehensible power tore through him, starting where their hands met, ripping through his soul, and exiting through Peacekeeper’s barrel. He could feel twin minds pressed against his own, their touch strange and alien against his soul, their silent, cold judgement evaluating him as they passed through him, and then they were gone, tearing through the alleyway with a roar that deafened him."Goddamn. Real dragons. Never once thought they were god-be-damned real life dragons.”*****A mission goes badly and Hanzo is forced to take desperate action to save himself and McCree. But is it too little too late?





	One Last Shot

**Author's Note:**

> Holy SHIT I wrote this like a woman possessed over the course of a few days. The past week is a horrible blur and I can't tell if this is fantastic or a hot mess. Constructive criticism is greatly encouraged, I'd like to revise it when my brain has recovered from the initial writing of it. The initial concept of Dragons Through Peacekeeper inspired by a couple of different fanart pieces sprawling through Tumblr, but mostly [this one.](http://scatterarrow.tumblr.com/post/146820036992/maonethedwarf-heres-a-thought-what-if-hanzo) And obvious credit to [maonethedwarf](http://maonethedwarf.tumblr.com/post/146585490043/heres-a-thought-what-if-hanzo-and-mccree-ended#_=_) for the original concept.   
> You can also find me at [ my writing tumblr. ](http://dabbledrabbleprose.tumblr.com)

McCree wasn’t sure exactly when the mission went full FUBAR, but he suspected it was around the point that Los Muertos dropped a piñata full of grenades right into the middle of their formation, scattering the team and throwing off any sense of coordination or plan. The communicator in his ear was buzzing with multiple voices as they tried to coordinate grouping back up amid the chaos Los Muertos was causing, and McCree felt that it wasn’t doing much except to add to the confusion. Overwatch wasn’t even targeting Los Muertos this time, damn it all. This was supposed to be a quiet midnight infiltration mission into LumériCo, and they’d had the bad luck of bumping into the gang before they even got to the building. 

“Fall back!” McCree shouted into the com, breaking off the other voices. He emptied Peacekeeper’s rounds into the chests of three thugs who tried to corner him in the side street he was on. “Fall back, dammit! Mission’s a bust. We’ve caused too much of a stir to try and infiltrate anything anywhere. Pull back to the transport and let’s get the hell out of here!”

A green-painted teenager lunged out from around a corner, swinging a baseball bat at McCree’s head. McCree tucked down into a roll, out of the way of the bat and behind the kid, hastily reloading before he sprang to his feet, gun at the ready. Goddamn, how old was this kid? Sixteen? Fifteen? Was this how McCree looked to Reyes when Overwatch plucked him out of Deadlock? So young, and already making so many bad decisions. How was he supposed to put a bullet through this kid? He dodged another swing of the bat. Maybe he was getting old and sentimental. When he was a teenager, he’d been lethal as the gun at his side, and he’d killed plenty before Reyes had straightened him out and gotten him to point his gun in a better direction. 

The kid lunged at him again, cursing more colorfully than his body paint. McCree caught the bat with his metal arm, using the artificial limb’s unnatural strength to jerk it out of the kid’s hands. 

“You’ll thank me for this later, kid,” he promised, then hit the kid in the head with his own bat, knocking him cold. Hell, he really was getting sentimental. 

“Status report!” He barked, sprinting away from the kid and down the street, trying to pinpoint where the lingering spurts of gunfire were coming from.

“Almost to the transport, luv!” Tracer chirped in his ear. “I’ll have her warmed up and ready to fly the second you all get back!”

“I’ve got Genji with me, and we’re still in the thick of it,” reported Lucio, who was brought along due to his surprisingly experienced history of breaking into mega-corporations. 

“But we are pushing through them!” Genji added, and the grin was evident in the cyborg’s voice. “They are no match for our speed and agility, and we will soon leave them in the dust!”

“Can’t stop, won’t stop!” cheered Lucio, accompanied by the sound of his hardlight blades grinding against something. A wall, probably. 

“Hah!” Genji and Lucio shouted at the same time. Good God. Whatever they were doing, it was synchronized. 

“You two better not be wasting your time showing off, because none of us are there to appreciate it. Anyone who gets shot doing a stupid stunt has to save their own ass because I’m not coming back for ya. Pretty sure that’s a policy or somethin’,” McCree grumbled as he ran down a street that seemed thankfully empty of gang members. 

“I’m pretty sure that policy was put into place because of something you did, McCree,” Genji replied. “Never fear, we’ll escape responsible and sensibly.” He probably said it while doing a backflip or something stupid.

“Hanzo, status report.”

Three breaths passed in silence. McCree frowned, finally getting off the side streets and jogging down the main road.

“Hanzo?”

“I have been followed to the rooftops,” Hanzo snapped into the coms, voice sharp and between panting breaths. “My bowstring has been cut, and they have-”

An explosion interrupted him, and McCree had the disorienting sensation of hearing it roar through both the com in his ear and from the rooftops ahead of him. 

“I see you, Han, backup’s on the way! I’m about two blocks south of you,” McCree kicked his run into a sprint, spurs jangling with each step. 

“There is a fire escape on the west side of the building. I will be-” Hanzo was interrupted by a second explosion, and degenerated into a string of expletives, only some of which were in English. 

Orange stucco and a burning roof greeted him as McCree sprinted toward the building Hanzo was fighting on. As he watched, Hanzo leapt off the roof and onto the fire escape with a clang of metal. He hastily scrambled down the steel stairs and platforms when a hurled metal sphere followed him off the roof, clattering to the platform beside him.

“Hanzo!” McCree shouted, heart catching in his throat. “Grenade!”

Hanzo didn’t hesitate, putting one foot on the railing of the fire escape and launching himself forward, leaping into empty air to put as much distance between himself and the grenade as possible. His arms pinwheeled in the air as he seemed to float, suspended over nothing, until the grenade detonated with enough force to destroy the fire escape and still send Hanzo hurling forward head over heels.

Oh God. He was going to break his neck. Hanzo was going to land on his head and die right in front of him, and there was nothing McCree could do about it. Heart pounding, McCree watched as Hanzo twisted in the air like a cat, as if in slow motion, managing to right himself enough to get his legs underneath him before he landed. There was an unmistakable crack that echoed through McCree’s ears as Hanzo landed hard, then promptly crumpled to the ground as his left leg gave out.

“Hanzo!” 

Hanzo was sitting up before McCree finished sprinting toward him, grimacing in pain and pulling the broken string off Storm Bow. 

“Hanzo, are you alright?” McCree skidded to a stop before him.

“I suspect my leg is broken, but we have no time for that now. Cover me while I restring her,” the archer ordered, fishing a new coiled bowstring out of a pouch on his quiver and setting Storm Bow before him. 

McCree fired off a series of rounds at the rooftop and reloaded, but no Los Muertos came within sight, likely finding a different way off the roof. He heard footsteps behind him and turned to find a group of gang members rushing toward him, following down the street he’d come from. A bullet tore past him, tearing a hole in his serape. Six shots, one reload, and six bodies fell to the ground, with more on the way. There was a roar of an engine and a truck with Los Muertos paint tags and a machine gun mounted on the cab started tearing down the street toward them. Another six shots, another reload, and McCree started backing up toward Hanzo.

“How’re you coming there, sugar?”

“Another few moments,” Hanzo said, not looking up from his work.

A gunner with blue facepaint clambered out of the bed of the truck and took hold of the mounted gun, taking aim as the truck tore down the street toward them. 

“Time’s up, darlin’! We gotta move!” McCree turned on his heel and scooped Hanzo up, ignoring the archer’s vehement cursing as he dropped the new bowstring. Without any decorum, he threw him over his left shoulder, metal arm holding him in place and leaving his gun hand free, and sprinted for the backstreets, hoping they would be too narrow for the truck to follow. He ran through the backstreets and alleyways, twisting and weaving, hoping to throw off the Los Muertos following them, but quickly wound up lost himself. 

“McCree, Hanzo, status report!” Tracer’s bright voice chirped in their ears. “Transport is up and ready to go, everyone’s here but you!”

“We are en route,” Hanzo replied sharply, neglecting to mention his injuries or that he was slung over McCree’s back like a sack of potatoes. “Expect our arrival shortly. No, turn left!” He slapped the sharpshooter on the back. “You’re going to get us lost!”

“Well, I’m glad you know where we are because I don’t have a clue, honey,” McCree turned left, skidding a little on the gravel in the alleyway.

“Of course not, that’s why you have me here. Straight. Right. The sea looks like it’s still to our left and the LumériCo pyramid is behind us, so we need to keep headed downhill.”

“I don’t know how you can tell all that in these back alleys,” McCree panted. “But I trust you. Just tell me where to go and I’ll get us there. Trying to-” He broke off as a massive yellow-painted thug came charging toward them. Muscle memory took over and McCree let go of Hanzo just long enough to fan the hammer and reload as the thug fell to the ground.

“Hell. I shouldn’t have done that. That’s my last reload,” He sighed, readjusting his grip on Hanzo. “As I was saying, I’m trying to keep off the main roads. If we run into that truck, we’ll be sitting ducks.”

“I know that. Left. And watch where you’re putting your hand!”

McCree honestly hadn’t been able to tell where his prosthetic hand was holding Hanzo, but a quick glance showed that he was gripping him right across his well-muscled rear.

“Aw, Hanzo,” McCree grinned as he took the left turn. “You don’t seem to mind any other time I cop a feel.”

“There is a time and a place,” he growled, grimacing as McCree made a particularly sharp turn, jostling Hanzo’s injured leg. “And this is neither the time nor the place. Across this street! We’re close!”

McCree sprinted across the major road to slip into a different series of narrow side streets. “Now that just ain’t true. It’s always a good time to compliment-”

The blow came out of nowhere, a blade in the gut as a teenager with green face paint and a bruised temple lunged forward from the shadows, sinking a knife between the plates of McCree’s body armor. McCree stumbled, his momentum throwing him forward and sending himself and Hanzo sprawling to the ground. He let out a shout as the kid yanked the knife out from his side. 

The kid sneered, twirling the knife in his hand. He was still sneering when McCree put a bullet between his eyes.

“Goddamn,” McCree growled, sitting up with a grimace. He looked at the kid’s cooling body, the ghost of a sneer still on his face. So young. So much potential. Son of a bitch. “Hell. He tried to come at me earlier. Wanted to give the kid a chance and knocked him out instead. No good deed, am I right?” He tried to get to his feet without success, falling back onto his rear with his legs sprawled out before him.

“Jesse, lie still! You’re bleeding!” 

McCree felt strong hands press against his injury and a shout of pain tore itself unbidden from his throat. 

“McCree is down and I am incapacitated! We require immediate extraction!”

“Sh-shit…” McCree tried to wave him off, despite Hanzo’s protests. “Help me up…They’re still coming, and I got five shots left. M-might buy us enough time for the t-team to…”

“Dammit, Jesse! Lie still!” 

A Los Muertos member appeared at the end of the alleyway and shouted up the street. “Over here! I found-” His shout was cut short as McCree sent a bullet tearing through his jaw and he dropped to the ground, screaming and clutching at the gore and teeth that used to be his face.

“ _Shit_ ,” McCree swore. “Missed. Now that’s gonna draw more of ‘em in. Help me up!”

Hanzo began muttering in Japanese under his breath, and though McCree couldn’t understand the words, he suspected they were all uncomplimentary and all directed at himself. Reluctantly, Hanzo helped McCree sit up, letting the sharpshooter lean back against himself and kept one hand pressed against McCree’s wound, trying to stem the bleeding.

“Four shots left. Gonna make ‘em count. Gonna keep you safe. I promise, darlin’.”

As McCree suspected, a crowd of Los Muertos appeared at the end of the alleyway, some armed with guns, most carrying knives and clubs. He needed to take out the shooters first to buy them more time. He aimed for the closest thug with a semiautomatic, putting a bullet through his eye.

“Three.”

Another went through the heart of a shirtless brute with a pistol.

“Two.”

The next bullet dropped a skinny bald man aiming a shotgun, but did nothing to slow the advance of the growing number of Los Muertos thugs approaching them.

“One shot left, huckleberry,” McCree grimaced. From the end of the alley, he could hear the truck drive up and screech to a halt. “I wish it could be enough. I wish I’d been able to do right by you.” He felt a lump form in his throat. There’d been a time in his life that he could have looked death in the face without fear, without consequences, like a fool. But now that he had a reason to live, it broke his heart that he had to go like this. The fact that Hanzo would die with him only made it worse. He wasn’t even able to protect the one man he cared for the most.

He took aim, wanting to give Hanzo every last second he could.

“It’s been a real treat, Hanzo. The absolute best.” The hoard of gangsters surged toward them, weapons at the ready, crammed into the narrow alley. McCree furiously blinked back tears. He wouldn’t show weakness to his enemy. Not now, here at the end. “I wouldn’t trade it for all the world.” His voice only trembled a little.

Hanzo’s tattooed left arm reached over to close around McCree’s right hand, clutching Peacekeeper with him. His grip was warm and wet, fingers slick with McCree’s own blood.

“You won’t have to. Not today, Love,” Hanzo whispered in his ear. The tattooed arm in front of him began to glow and luminous shapes shifted against the skin, writhing and unfurling into existence. The glow continued, wrapping around his own hand, coiling around Peacekeeper, seeping through the chamber and barrel, and there was a force, and presence, an incredible _power_ that pressed against his mind from all sides, hungering, _waiting_ for something, and the pressure only grew and grew, closing around him, WAITING, it was ready, _they_ were ready, if only McCree would-

_Fire._

“ _Ryuu ga waga teki wo kurau!_ ”

They pulled Peacemaker’s trigger together. 

McCree had never been struck by lightning, but he imagined it would be something like this. Incomprehensible power tore through him, starting where their hands met, ripping through his soul, and exiting through Peacekeeper’s barrel. He could feel twin minds pressed against his own, their touch strange and alien against his soul, their silent, cold judgement evaluating him as they passed through him, and then they were gone, tearing through the alleyway with a roar that deafened him. 

When he could see again, the alley was empty apart from scattered weapons. The truck at the end of the street had been tipped on its side. McCree knew better than to ask where everyone had gone.

“How…how…” Peacekeeper slipped from his trembling fingers and he sank back against Hanzo. “Holy shit…they’re real…”

“Be still, Jesse. You’re still bleeding.” Hanzo’s hands were back on his side again, putting pressure on his wound. McCree made a sound that he hoped sounded more like a growl and less like a whimper as he tried to push past the pain.

“Thought they were hardlight projections. Or a nanite swarm with a fancy light show,” No injury in the world could stop McCree from trying to run his mouth, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to stop now, not when his head was spinning from the Dragons. At least, he hoped that was why his head was spinning. “Never once thought they were god-be-damned real life dragons.”

“Jesse, be still!” Hanzo scolded. 

“Goddamn. Real dragons,” His mouth tried to keep rambling, but it was getting harder to breathe. He shifted in Hanzo’s grip and found himself lying flat on the ground, staring up at the night sky above. “H-hey…do they got names? They always hanging around you, or do you gotta call ‘em down from some magic-ass land?”

“Dammit, Jesse!” Hanzo was kneeling over him, both hands pressing on his wound. “Stop it! Stop talking, hold still!”

“Sorry, darlin’,” McCree managed a smile up at him, trying to make it look comforting and not strained. The panic in Hanzo’s eyes didn’t provide much reassurance that he succeeded. “You know me. Mouth like an eight digit outlaw. Always running. …To be honest, I thought I was gonna pass out sooner than this. Not quite sure what to do.”

“You hold still,” Hanzo replied sharply. “You let me try and stop this bleeding. We wait for backup to arrive so we can get you to a medical facility.”

McCree promptly ignored everything Hanzo said as a sudden realization hit him. “Aw…aw, hell. You broke your leg, didn’t you? Are you hurtin’?”

“Jesse…” Hanzo made an exasperated noise. “I am fine. My leg is fine.”

“I know that ain’t true,” he had meant to shout the words, but instead they came out as a hoarse croak with a crack at the end. “I b-been carrying ya the past-” he overdid it and was forced to break off mid-sentence with a gasp as his lungs screamed for air that somehow seemed to be in short supply, then broke into a coughing fit, which did nothing to help.

“Alright, alright,” Hanzo’s voice softened as McCree’s coughing ceased. “Yes, my leg hurts. A great deal, in fact. But I am not the one bleeding out. Please…save some worry for yourself. Let me take care of you.”

The plea in Hanzo’s voice was finally enough to force McCree to relax under his hands, and he didn’t have the heart to argue with the distressed look on the archer’s face. He was also running out of energy to put up a fight. 

“Sorry, Han…” He sank back onto the dirty alley pavement, staring up at the star-strewn sky. It was becoming harder to breathe, each breath accompanied by a sharp pain, and he began to feel light-headed. Hanzo finally cursed and wrestled the serape from McCree’s neck, balling it up and pressing it against his wound. McCree grunted as the extra pressure brought on a fresh wave of pain, but liked to think that he hid it rather well.

He tried to look down at himself and felt a wave of dizziness and nausea wash over him, instead letting his head fall back to the pavement with a solid ‘thunk.’ Hold up. His hat was gone. When had he lost his hat? He tried to look around, but with as much success as he’d had trying to look down at himself. Stupid idea. Need to lay still. Figure out how bad he was hurt.

“How’s it look?” McCree asked.

Hanzo didn’t immediately answer and didn’t meet McCree’s eye.

“Give it to me straight, darlin’,” His heart felt like it was fluttering in his chest and his breath was growing quick and shallow. “I need to know.”

“I can’t get the bleeding to stop,” Hanzo admitted. “And you’re bruising badly, which leads me to believe you are bleeding internally as well.”

McCree took a moment to let that sink in. “Well…the team, they’re comin’, right?” The com in his ear had been awfully quiet, which worried him. Oh. No, he couldn’t feel it in his ear anymore. His communicator had fallen out at some point. Probably when he lost his hat. He blamed the dragons.

“Yes, they’re coming,” Hanzo said. “How are you feeling, Jesse?”

“Been trying not to think about it.”

“Please. I need to know.”

McCree almost smiled as his own words were thrown back at him, then stopped to actually evaluate how he was feeling. “…Not great. That whole spot you got your hands on is a world o’hurt. I’m…I’m dizzy. Cold.”

He felt a lump rise in his throat. He’d seen these symptoms before. He knew what was happening. Dammit. Why hadn’t he just passed out earlier? How long would he have to cling on, delaying the inevitable? “…I’m…scared.”

He met Hanzo’s eyes, and he could see that same fear reflected back at him.

“Not how I wanted to go out, Han. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say that!” Hanzo snapped. “Don’t you dare give up on me. The team is coming.”

“Gonna be too little too late, honeybee,” His vision started to swim, Hanzo’s face going blurry on a backdrop of starlight. “Let me have this…Let me go with some dignity.”

“Jesse…” The way Hanzo said his name broke McCree’s heart.

“You gotta…you gotta bury me with my hat, okay? I love that hat,” McCree felt an arm slide under his shoulders, and he didn’t have the strength to lift his head to hold Hanzo’s gaze. The edges of his vision started going dark.

“Jesse, no…”

“I wanted…” his voice cracked. “…I love you, Hanzo. I’m sorry.”

The darkness closed in around him. The last thing he felt was Hanzo’s lips against his own.

This was okay, as far as dying went. This was good. 

There were worse places to die than in the arms of Hanzo Shimada.

*****

It was a solid ten minutes before McCree realized the light he was staring at belonged to a light fixture in the ceiling instead of a bright light at the end of a tunnel. He blinked slowly and turned his head, trying to get his bearings. Something pulled at his nose as he turned, plastic tubes going up both nostrils, and as he confusedly reached up to touch his face he felt something else tugging at his right arm.

“H…huh?”

“Jesse?”

McCree tried to look toward the sound of his name and tug at the tube up his nose at the same time and ended up smacking himself in the face with his metal hand.

“Dammit!”

“Jesse!”

“Hanzo?” The smack to face woke McCree up like a splash of cold water and he blinked owlishly at Hanzo. They were in what McCree recognized as the medical ward at Watchpoint Gibraltar, a hospital room with the Overwatch logo emblazoned on the back wall. He was in in one of the many beds with an IV line connected to the back of his right hand, oxygen nasal cannula feeding up his nose, and a variety of sensors from monitoring equipment vanishing under his hospital gown. Hanzo was seated in the bed beside his, wearing shorts and a tank top, a book in his hands and his injured leg in a splint. A biotic emitter sat between them, engulfing the room in a faint yellow glow.

“Jesse, how do you feel?” Hanzo set his book aside and leaned toward McCree, though he was careful not to move his splinted leg.

“What…Uh…I feel…groggy.”

“Are you painful?”

“Um…” McCree paused, thinking about the question. “No. Not really. What…what happened? How are we…why are we here? And how am I…” he trailed off before he could finish the words, but Hanzo supplied them for him.

“…Alive?”

McCree nodded.

“Lena drove the entire transport to our location and arrived shortly after you blacked out. Lucio was able to get some blood in you and get you mostly stabilized, and then we were able to bribe the closest hospital into admitting you without keeping any records of you, and they were able to take you to surgery to repair the damage that had been done. Dr. Ziegler flew in and was able to assist in the operation. She had some very unkind things to say about your liver.”

McCree frowned. “What’s wrong with my liver?”

“A lifetime of drinking. Also it had been stabbed.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“Indeed. I did not get stabbed.”

“Hah hah. Hilarious.”

“After the procedure, we flew you back here as soon as you were stable enough to transport, before someone could figure out who you were and how much your bounty is still worth.”

“You couldn’t wait for me to wake up first?”

Hanzo shook his head. “As soon as Dr. Ziegler said you were safe to move, we flew out with you.”

“How long have I been out?” McCree fiddled with his IV line and poked at one of the sensors taped to his skin, already getting antsy about them, wanting to be out of the uncomfortably sterile infirmary and back in his own room. And a smoke. God, he needed a smoke.

“Three days.”

“Holy shit.” Oh yeah. He definitely needed a cigarillo. McCree was almost tempted to ask for one, but he didn’t want to think about what Angela would do to him if he dared to smoke in her infirmary. He tried to think of something to distract himself.

“So…those dragons…”

“I was wondering when you would bring that up.” Hanzo sat back in his bed, folding his thick arms, his intricate tattoo on display.

“They’re dragons. Real, honest-to-goodness dragons.”

“They are spirits, tied to my family and tied to me. That’s probably the easiest way to describe them.”

“Tied to your family?” A thought struck him. “So, when Genji does that thing with his sword…”

“Yes. Another dragon,” Hanzo gave him a level look. “I’m a little surprised. I would have thought he would have already discussed this with you.”

McCree shrugged. “Genji was always pretty good at not talking about anything he didn’t wanna talk about. He was a mite cagey about himself back in Blackwatch. Sure he’d be fine with it now, though. Subject just never came up. …So…uh. These spirit dragons. They always with you?”

“To an extent. I can call upon them when needed, and they usually answer.”

“But they’re not…like…” McCree struggled for a way to explain what he was thinking without being obvious. “…always aware of you?”

Hanzo gave him a sideways look. “What are you trying to say, Jessie?” Damn. He knew him too well. Hanzo could always call him on his bullshit.

“I’m just thinking about the number of times I’ve run my tongue down that tattoo,” McCree said. “Didn’t want to offend nobody.”

Hanzo gave him a look and had the audacity to actually turn red. What the hell was he blushing for? He asked, didn’t he? 

“I’m just sayin’,” he continued when Hanzo didn’t seem to be forthcoming with an answer. “I ain’t much of an exhibitionist. I’d like to know how many people…er…spirits are watching every time we-”

“No!” Hanzo interrupted. “No, they do not…They are not…no. They don’t…watch. They are not a constant presence in my mind. No.”

“That’s a relief,” McCree grinned. “I may be into a few things, but I ain’t much one for having an audience.”

Hanzo snorted. “That surprises me, what with how eager you are to show your affection at every moment.”

“Naw, that’s different,” McCree said hastily. “A little PDA never hurt anyone. Can’t seem to help myself around you, sugar. I know, I know…you’d prefer to keep everything private…”

“Oh? Is that what you think?” Hanzo asked, and there was just enough of a tease in his voice to give McCree pause. 

“…Sugarplum?”

“Were I not under strict orders to not put any weight on this leg, I would have been in that bed with you the moment you awoke, putting my tongue down your throat, audience or not.”

McCree gave a start. “…How long do you have to be off that leg?”

Hanzo smiled and picked his book back up. “At least another day.”

McCree groaned and sank back into the bed. “Goddamn. I think I need you more than I need a smoke.”

“I’m flattered.”

“You should be,” he sighed, and was irritated to find his eyes drooping already. “Hey…Hanzo.”

“Yes?”

“…Thank you. For being here when I woke up,” He could feel Hanzo looking over at him, but didn’t meet his eyes, worried that doing so would get himself all worked up and emotional again. “…It was real good to just…see you again. After thinking I wouldn’t.”

“Of course, Jesse,” Hanzo said softly. “I wouldn’t leave your side for all the world.” 

McCree smiled and blinked rapidly a few times before looking over at Hanzo, his partner, his lover, his whole world and sharing a smile with him. 

There was nowhere else he’d rather be.

*****

Bonus: 

“Aw, shit! Did you get my hat?”

“And the moment is gone.”


End file.
